At Sea

When the investing darkness growls,

And deep reverberates to deep;

When keyhole whines and chimney howls,

And all the roofs and windows weep;

Then, through the doorless walls of sleep,

The still-sealed ear and shuttered sight,

Phantoms of memory steal and creep,

The very ghosts of sound and light-

Dream-visions and dream-voices of a bygone night.

I see again, I hear again,

Where lightnings flash and house-eaves drip,

A flying swirl of waves and rain-

That storm-path between Sound and Rip.

I feel the swaying of the ship

In every gust that rocks the trees,

And taste that brine upon my lip

And smell the freshness of the breeze

That sped us through the welter of those racing seas.

I hear the menace of the call

To rope and rivet, wheel and mast,

In the swift onrush of the squall,

The challenge of the thundering blast

To daring men as it sweeps past;

And in my dream I have no dread.

Rivet and rope are firm and fast,

The clear lights shining, green and red,

The quiet eyes of sentry watching overhead.

What epic battles pass unsung!

It was a war of gods befell

On that wild night when we were young.

They rode, like cavalry of hell,

The mighty winds, the monstrous swell,

On their white horses, fierce and fleet;

They stood at bay, invincible,

Where pulsed beneath our sliding feet

The faithful iron heart that never lost a beat.

How the sharp sea-spume lashed and stung!

How the salt sea-wind tugged and tare

And clawed and mauled us where we clung,

With panting breasts and streaming hair,

To our frail eyrie in mid-air!

How we exulted in the fight-

With neither haste nor halt to dare

Those Titans furies in their might,

Undaunted and unswerving in our insect flight!

No lap of exquisite repose!

A mortar wherein souls are brayed;

An anvil ringing to the blows

Whereby true men are shaped, and made

Divinely strong and unafraid.

Such gallant sailor-men there be-

Never unready or dismayed,

Though ‘t’s the face of death they see

In cyclone, fire and fog, and white surf on the lee.

Not only in the sylvan bower,

On dreaming hill, by sleeping mere,

The holy place-the sacred hour.

Beset by every form of fear,

Darkness ahead and danger near,

Sorely hard-driven and hard-prest,

But still unspent and of good cheer-

He finds them who can pass the test,

Who never winks an eye and never stays to rest

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External links

Bat’s Poetry Page – more poetry by Fledermaus

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Batty Writing – the bat’s idle chatter, thoughts, ideas and observations, all original, all fresh

Poems in English 

• Memorials of A Tour In Scotland, 1803 I. Departure From The Vale Of Grasmere, August 1803 by William Wordsworth by William Wordsworth
• Matthew by William Wordsworth by William Wordsworth
• Maternal Grief by William Wordsworth by William Wordsworth
• Mark The Concentrated Hazels That Enclose by William Wordsworth by William Wordsworth
• Lucy by William Wordsworth by William Wordsworth
• Lucy Gray [or Solitude] by William Wordsworth by William Wordsworth
• Louisa: After Accompanying Her On A Mountain Excursion by William Wordsworth by William Wordsworth
• Look Now On That Adventurer Who Hath Paid by William Wordsworth by William Wordsworth
• London, 1802 by William Wordsworth by William Wordsworth
• Lines Written On A Blank Leaf In A Copy Of The Author’s Poem “The Excursion,” by William Wordsworth by William Wordsworth
• Lines Written In Early Spring by William Wordsworth by William Wordsworth
• Lines Written As A School Exercise At Hawkshead, Anno Aetatis 14 by William Wordsworth by William Wordsworth
• Lines On The Expected Invasion, 1803 by William Wordsworth by William Wordsworth
• Lines Left Upon The Seat Of A Yew-Tree, by William Wordsworth by William Wordsworth
• Lines Composed a Few Miles above Tintern Abbey by William Wordsworth by William Wordsworth
• Laodamia by William Wordsworth by William Wordsworth
• Lament Of Mary Queen Of Scots by William Wordsworth by William Wordsworth
• It was an April morning: fresh and clear by William Wordsworth by William Wordsworth
• It Is No Spirit Who From Heaven Hath Flown by William Wordsworth by William Wordsworth
• It Is a Beauteous Evening by William Wordsworth by William Wordsworth

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Duckduckgo – the real alternative and a search engine that actually works. Without much censorship or partisan politics.

Yahoo– yes, it’s still around, amazingly, miraculously, incredibly, but now it seems to be powered by Bing.

 

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